Seaweed In His Hair
by The Moonlily
Summary: Life can be a strange thing. Sometimes it just takes some seaweed to change everything. Oneshot.


**Title:** Seaweed In His Hair

 **Rating:** T

 **Pairings:** Éomer/Lothíriel

 **Genre:** Romance/Drama

 **Summary:** Life can be a strange thing. Sometimes it just takes some seaweed to change everything. Oneshot.

 **Disclaimer:** The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.

 **Author's Note:** If you have been reading my stories for a while now, you might have noticed that whenever my longer fics reach a particularly angsty part, I start to write other things that are _very_ lighthearted and fluffy in comparison. This is one such occasion. Do not worry: I'm not abandoning ALWR. The upcoming chapter is slowly taking shape, but I needed a small break from it. And once I had started writing, this little story just demanded to be finished before anything else.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 _April 3020, Dol Amroth_

The third morning of his stay in Dol Amroth dawned as a clear and bright one. It was warm as well, warmer than this season was in north. But Éomer Lord of the Mark reminded himself this far south weathers were always much gentler than on the windy plains he called his home, and consequently, most of his clothes had already proved too heavy for the climate by the sea. As such, he was arrayed in nothing more than a simple linen shirt and trousers as he made his morning ride along the shore. Wryly he thought to himself if there had been others around at this time, they would not have guessed they were in the presence of a king.

And truthfully, Éomer preferred it so. This past year, he had received quite enough of fawning and flattery, even from some he had known since he had been a young captain. On an entirely rational level, he understood it. The nobility in his land were merely testing their new king and trying to find out his character. Overall, his people seemed to consider him the herald of a new age in Rohan, founder of a new line and a fresh face on the throne; apparently this also meant he would and should rearrange all things great and small. Many of the nobles had figured out this would provide them with ample chances of improving their own positions at his court. Truthfully, Éomer's plan _was_ to renew and rebuild his realm, and make sure no shade of Wormtongue's time should be lurking around in people's minds. But he was hardly prepared for all that this would cause, and at times he was at his wits' end, ready to abandon the throne and run for the wild as fast as he could. So he had eventually decided to claim Imrahil's invitation, which the man had been renewing time and again ever since the Ring War had ended. A couple of weeks away from the courts of Edoras would surely do him good, and he could return to his numerous duties with a refreshed mind.

And so, here he was now, riding along the beach as he would every morning. Back in Rohan, morning rides were often the only time before nightfall he actually got to listen to his own thoughts without a constant rush of interruptions in the form of Éothain, messengers, advisers, Éothain, his Marshals, his chatelaine, Éothain, and a various assortments of nobility approaching him with real or made-up issues. During his vacation, riding wasn't so much of an exercise to retain his sanity, but more a simple task he took pleasure in. Not to mention, Firefoot was sure to cause major trouble at Imrahil's stables if he was left building up his steam for too long.

The morning was indeed fair, and despite his initial scepticism towards all things related to the sea, he did rather enjoy the salty breeze that came from the sea, and the way dawn's light glimmered and shined across the waters. Sea was calm today and the waves lapped gently at the shore, which consisted of thick white sand he knew to be incredibly soft under one's bare feet.

Éomer had never seen the Great Sea before his visit to Dol Amroth. Of course, he had heard stories, and sometimes Legolas his friend spoke of it with quiet longing. Consequently, the young king had to admit he had rather expected much more when seeing the sea for the first time. Well, he supposed it was rather impressive, intimidating even, but he had no desire to get better acquainted with it. Surely he couldn't see why it called to Legolas so much that the Elf could hardly find peace in the woods up north, where his father's kingdom stood weathering time and the changing of the world. To himself, Éomer considered it was a kind of blessing, however small, to be so tightly rooted to some place as he was to the Mark. Not even the Sea, though it was mighty and great, could break that bond. True, this past year there had been moments he had rather seriously considered fleeing the capital at night and getting away from that damned throne, but deep down he knew what was what. The Mark was in his blood and in his bones. And there was no other place in this world he'd rather call his home.

But even despite these thoughts, he did take secret delight in leading Firefoot to the surf and galloping so hard that seawater sprayed and foamed and his trousers were damp to the knee. He would owe his horse a good rubbing for that, the young king thought with a faint smile.

After this little display of almost boyish carefreeness Éomer dismounted and walked Firefoot to let the stallion cool off before they would head back to the city. Imrahil would soon be waking up and expecting his guest to join him at breakfast; afterwards, they would probably be holed up in the prince's study at least until afternoon. Being a king, Éomer couldn't expect his trip to south to be just for pleasure, which thought made him cringe to himself.

He was in the middle of these thoughts when he spotted a figure standing atop a tall cliff. It shot up from the sea almost like a needle seeking to pierce the sky, reaching high above the rolling waves. Sheltering his eyes from bright morning's light, Éomer gazed up at the figure and saw it was a woman. Her long, dark hair was open to the wind to toss around, and she was dressed in what looked like a light white gown. With some surprise, he realised she was none else than Prince Imrahil's only daughter, Princess Lothíriel. What was she doing up there?

He had first met her in Minas Tirith during the celebrations after the war, but her manner had been cool and distant, and they had not exchanged many words beyond the most necessary pleasantries. He recalled she had exited his company rather rudely – a major accomplishment to make him think so, considering Éomer was hardly the most exacting individual when it came to etiquette and manners. Afterwards, he had all but forgotten about her, at least until she had joined the company at dinner the other night. However, she still remained quiet and unsocial, even to the point of making Éomer wonder if it was somehow his fault. It was entirely possible he had made some insulting remark when they had been introduced and hadn't just realised it then. During the time he had spent with his Gondorian friends, he had found they took matters of propriety far more seriously than his own people.

So, after the princess had retired that night, Éomer had asked Amrothos if he had somehow offended her, worried for what his friend might say; insulting Imrahil's closest kin was the last thing he wanted to do. But the prince had smiled and waved his hand nonchalantly.

"Of course not, my friend. It's just the way she is. I have never seen Lothíriel warming up quickly to people she doesn't know. And she's always been particularly appalled by men, except for her own family of course", Amrothos had said, much to Éomer's relief. He had not much thought of her afterwards, seeking rather the company of more forthcoming members of her family.

But now his attention was fully fixed on the princess, and he wondered if he should call out to her – offer a ride on Firefoot back to the castle, perhaps. Not that he expected her to accept, if she was so disdainful towards males as her brother had suggested.

He was still pondering this when she took step closer to the edge of the cliff, and as a shout of alarm rose to Éomer's lips, she jumped.

For a split second he stood frozen, staring at the figure of woman as she plunged into the waves. Then he cursed and ran, tearing off his shirt and kicking off his boots. Béma! Was she out of her mind?!

Éomer charged into the waves and waded deeper as fast as he could. Then he began to swim, heading for where she had fallen, and panic seemed to give him the strength of four men. His style was not graceful but he was a strong swimmer, and fear for the life of his friend's daughter drove him. As he battled against the waves to get to her, he was wondering if her reticence was actually a sign of some malaise of mind. He couldn't let her drown! If his daughter died like this, it would break Imrahil!

He was below the cliff now, and he dived, searching the dark waters with his hands for her. If there only had been more light! Where was she? Had he come too late? Had the current already pulled her to death? He dived as deep as he dared, groping around in the darkness, but his hands only brushed past something cold and slimy. It was too dark to tell what sort of a sea-creature that might be.

Eventually, Éomer had to resurface in order to catch air. As he kicked to get atop the waves again, his lungs were already burning, and he let out a mighty gasp as he felt air on his face once more.

The first thing he saw were a pair of bright, grey eyes, staring at him in such silent astonishment. For one mad second Éomer thought he had been joined by some kind of a mystical sea-creature, such as mermaid from the tales Amrothos had shared over a bottle of wine. However, this one had the face of the Princess of Dol Amroth, and at any rate, Amrothos' stories had given Éomer the general understanding that mystical sea-creatures were prone to drowning people. The person before was trying no such thing.

He opened his mouth, intending to give her the verbal equivalent of a thrashing, when suddenly she let out a sound like a squeal of utmost excitement and moved forward. She wrapped arms around his neck and her lips, a glistening bud like a rose, pressed against his own.

It was a clumsy, sweet thing, revealing that she was not practised in the art of kissing. Not that he had expected Imrahil's daughter to make a habit of kissing men she barely knew – which made this encounter all the more bewildering. In the cool lap of the sea she was warm as her slender shape pressed against his naked chest, and her lips, impossibly soft and supple, tasted salty.

Éomer's mind went blank. Here he was, half-naked in the sea, and the Princess of Dol Amroth was kissing him!

 _Maybe she_ is _a mermaid._

At last he remembered he was angry. Yes, he should be demanding her what she had been doing, not _liking_ her kiss or starting to answer it! So he pulled back in the water, glaring at the woman before him. Did he just imagine it or was she actually looking disappointed? No, such idea was nonsense. Worse yet, it was conceited of him to think so.

 _Angry._ Yes, he was angry. And he was going to let her know that, too.

"What were you doing, princess? Are you out of your mind?! What do you think your father would say if I reported your drowning to him?!" Éomer growled angrily as soon as he had regained his voice. Judging by her expression, he might just have confessed to being the personal friend of Ulmo Lord of Waters.

"Drowning?! I wasn't drowning! I was jumping!" snapped the princess, her voice expressing more colour and _life_ than in any of their conversations until now.

"Exactly! Jumping _to your death!_ Do you have any idea what it would do to your family if you took your own life?!" he raved angrily, wanting to take a hold of her shoulders and give her a good shake. Words continued to pour out, though their form and manner was rather scattered, and somewhere behind it all there was a tiny notion that all this came from a far more personal source than he would have liked to admit. _Dark hopelessness of Éowyn's eyes when Aragorn brought her back, her engulfing desire to seek death in battle..._

After a while, it occurred to Éomer that the princess had gone quiet and still. Her face bore shock now and something like dismay. Frowning he halted, breathing hard as he tried to calm down.

"You... you think I was trying to kill myself?" she whispered when he was silent.

"Wasn't that what you were doing?" Éomer asked back, growing more confused now. He glanced up at the cliff again, shivering at the heights it rose.

"No! Of course not! How could you think that?" said the princess, even more shocked now. Then, as he stared incredulously at her, her brow creased, "Though, I suppose, I see what might lead you to that conclusion."

She too looked quickly at the cliff and then moved her eyes back to him.

"My lord, I have been diving from that cliff ever since I was a young girl. It's just a fun thing Amrothos and I like to do. Of course it can be dangerous if you don't know how to jump, or if you don't know the waters. But I have done it a thousand times, and I'm a strong swimmer", she explained, her voice growing softer again, but not one bit colder.

Indeed, Éomer felt like she was two different women: one was cold and distant and almost hostile, and the other was warm and eager and had a reckless streak as wide as his own. There was no deathwish in her eyes – instead, he saw them sparkling with a hunger for living.

Immediately, he understood how misguided his outburst had been. She had not sought death! And yet he had lectured her like she was some thoughtless child! Éomer groaned under his breath and wished he could sink to the bottom of the sea.

"I owe you my apologies, my lady. I shouldn't have yelled at you so", he said slowly, bowing his head the best he could while swimming to keep the current from taking him away. "I was merely afraid for your life."

The princess smiled. Béma! He had thought she was fairly pretty before, but that smile! It wasn't exactly the kind of expression to render her _beautiful –_ rather, he thought she was basking in some inner light, full of sheer joy of being alive. It hinted at the passion she was capable of and revealed her emotions were much more intense than she gave on. Really, the more he spoke with this young princess, the more fascinated he became. And he was certain the person he had seen before, back after the Ring War and only the other night, was not real at all.

"It's all right. Your actions were to save a person you thought was in peril, Sire. I'm sorry too, as I did not mean to startle you", she said warmly. Then without another word she reached her hand towards him, and she brushed her fingers through his hair. Éomer lifted his eyebrows quizzically, and she blushed. "You have seaweed in your hair. Some say it's a sign from the Lady Uinen."

"A sign? Is it a good or a bad sign?" he asked, his eyes fixed on her face and finding a thousand things about it which proved just how wrong he had been about her. What a fool he had been to think this lady was some kind of an ice princess!

"Good. It's supposed to be good", she spoke softly, her blush growing even darker. He decided he rather liked that, the way it looked against her fair complexion.

"Hmm. I do not know what deed of mine has earned her good favour", Éomer stated, his eyes moving downwards and towards her lips. Suddenly, it occurred to him he'd rather like to kiss her again. However, she was the daughter of his good friend, and this situation had already gone far, far beyond the normal rules of propriety.

"Well, you did just put your own life in line for the sake of another. It should earn you plenty of good favour, lord", said the princess with that enticing smile of hers, and the young king had to look away in order to retain control over himself.

"Shall we head back to the shore? The current is rather strong", Éomer suggested then, deciding it would be safer to continue this conversation nearer to the beach. For one, he didn't want to risk drowning while ogling at a fair maiden.

"Yes, let us do that", she agreed, and they began to swim back the way he had come. They did not speak as they swam, but Éomer did notice where he probably looked like some clumsy kind of beast as he scooped through the water, she was almost gliding through it. No wonder her house bore the Silver Swan as their symbol.

Nearer to the shore, he also cast yet another look to the cliff. Suddenly, a question occurred to him, and he spoke it out loud: "How did you get up there, anyway?"

"Oh, I climbed. It's not as bad as it looks", she said lightly, and immediately Éomer was struck with the image of her climbing the rocks, the wind catching at her hair and her dress. It was a good thing he had not seen that, because most likely he would have raced after her, tried to climb after her and fall to his death. What made this lady seek for such perilous occupations?

They reached the shore at last, much to his liking. Éomer's arms had already grown tired from the lengthy swim and resisting the current that ran in the waters. Had the way been longer, she might just have had to save him!

However, he quickly forgot about the weariness of his limbs, because as they rose to the beach, he saw her gown wasn't really a gown. Rather, it was a thin shift which clung to her body in a manner that left little to imagination, and the dusky tips of her breasts were all too visible through the light material. Where the coldness of seawater had started to bite into his skin on the last stretch of the swim, the sensation was now replaced by warm flush of blood. _She's Imrahil's daughter, for Béma's sake!_

Quickly he looked away, knowing the longer he indulged himself with this vision, the harder it would be to forget. To occupy himself with something, he grabbed his shirt from the white sand and spread it for her.

"My lady, please use this", he offered while trying not to look at her directly.

"Thank you, my lord. I was just thinking how silly I was to forget my cloak", she said and wrapped the shirt around herself – as far as he could tell, she was not at all mortified to be so indecently clad in his presence. It looked like almost half of her body disappeared inside the garment; she was much smaller than him.

Now that she was covered, Éomer had a greater trust in his own soundness of mind. He could also look straight at her again without the danger of embarrassing himself before her.

"If you don't mind me asking, Lady Princess, why do you go jumping off the cliff?" he asked her. It did seem like an ordinary hobby, but perhaps it was perfectly common here in Dol Amroth.

Lady Lothíriel ran a hand through her damp hair and a tiny crease formed on her brow.

"I... well, it may seem foolish to you, my lord, but it's for the excitement", she answered at length, looking away from him. She nibbled at her lower lip – a full, delicious lip – before going on, "It's not that there's something wrong with Dol Amroth. It's a nice city, and it's very beautiful. It's just... a bit dull, you see? And I have always dreamed of something more. Of being more than just a pretty adornment on someone's shelf that will be safely tucked away when it's not needed... being more than that is not very easy when you're a high-born lady of Gondor. Oh, I know, I have no real reason to complain – I was born into privilege. But I can't help what I desire. I suppose that's why I go to jump. It's one of those rare moments when I feel like I'm truly alive."

Whatever Éomer had expected her to answer, this was not it. There was a plain honesty to her words and her voice was filled with yearning, eager for a life she couldn't really have as a princess. It was odd, he thought, to talk about something like this with a noble lady of her lineage. Most of the ladies he had met in Gondor would never speak so frankly to him – and neither had she before this day. Small talk always took him effort, but talking like this, straight and sincere, was the natural way of words for him. It didn't even matter that the topic was something so tender and personal.

"I see", Éomer said then, remembering he was supposed to answer. Searching at her face, he asked, "Are you unhappy here, princess?"

She met his eyes evenly, and for the first time it looked like the twinkling of her eyes was dimmed.

"It's not that I'm unhappy, my lord. I'm just not happy, either", she said softly.

A long moment of silence passed between them. Éomer felt like he was supposed to say something, but words had failed him, and he just stood mulling over her words. That moment they had been in the water and she had kissed him... the way she had smiled when he had apologised to her... it would be such a sad waste for all that spirit and vitality to exist for nothing.

It was then he felt a warm, soft nose nuzzling at his hand, and Éomer turned abruptly to see Firefoot by his side. He had been so focused on the princess that he had entirely forgotten about his stallion – a fact which, judging by Firefoot's displeased nicker, had not gone unnoticed.

"Oh, he's wonderful! He is yours, correct?" Princess Lothíriel asked eagerly, taking a sharp step towards the stallion and then falling back again as though she believed the horse was unsafe. A wise deed, seeing how wary a fully trained war-horse could be.

"Aye, this is Firefoot", Éomer said, patting the animal's neck. "Would you like to accompany me back to your father's castle? I was headed back when I saw you."

"I would like that. But only as far as below the towers – we can't exactly make an appearance together like this", she said, smiling once more with considerable amount of mischief added to her expression. Éomer felt taken aback and he couldn't help a sheepish little grin. Indeed, Imrahil would have a thing or two to say if they were to appear in courtyard like so, Éomer's own shirt around Lothíriel and the young king himself with his chest bared! Most likely the prince would ban him from entering Dol Amroth for life.

"As you wish, my lady", he replied and led Firefoot so that his flank was to the princess. He asked, "Do you need help mounting him?"

"No thank you", she answered with a smile, and then she leaped on the back of the stallion as though she had been born in the saddle. His astonished face must have betrayed him right away, for she smiled even wider, "I did not yet have a chance to tell you that riding is the other thing that makes me feel alive."

For a moment all he could do was just stare at her. _Is this princess even real?_

When he got himself moving again, Éomer wiped his sand-covered feet on the legs of his trousers and quickly pulled on his boots – despite his effort, sand grains were already pressing against his soles. Then he mounted Firefoot behind her, and he placed a hand as chastely as he was able around her waist. Her falling while they were riding would be a rather poor ending to this fairly pleasant morning.

He expected her to retain some distance, but as soon as he was settled there behind her, she leaned her back against him.

"Do you mind? I feel a bit cold, and you are so warm, my lord", she spoke softly, and even if he had wanted, he knew he couldn't have said no.

"Not at all", Éomer managed, though he noted his voice came out low and throaty. This wasn't going well in the slightest and she didn't seem inclined to help him! _She's Imrahil's daughter. She has three brothers who are fairly competent with the sword,_ he reminded himself. He didn't doubt one bit they would come after him if they thought he had treated her badly.

"Wouldn't your father be appalled to see us now, my lady?" he felt obliged to ask. Noblewomen were never so familiar with him – in fact he was certain an average lady would be outraged by the mere idea – but this maiden, this princess of the sea, almost treated him like he was her lover!

The princess shrugged and threw him a smile over her shoulder.

"I won't tell him if you won't either", she merely said, settling so that she was even more closely snuggled against him. How warm she was, and how very good she felt there in his lap! One might almost have thought they had been shaped with each other in mind. Béma, this was going to haunt him for many, many nights.

"Very well then", he managed, taking a deep breath and urging Firefoot to move. It would probably be best for both their sakes, the sooner he got them to where people could watch over them. As of now, his trust in his own self-control was growing very feeble.

Yet even then, the ride came to an end much too soon. In fact, he thought he could have spent hours and hours just racing the beach with the princess, never mind the fact they were both covered in salt water which was starting to turn his clothes stiff and rough to wear.

But whether he liked it or not, when they reached the point below the high towers of Imrahil's castle, the princess touched his hand and glanced at him over her shoulder. She was so close! Her breath hit his face and her eyes glimmered in a delightfully inviting fashion. Would it be very bad to kiss her one more time?

"I will leave you here, Sire. There's a narrow path behind those rocks that leads up to the castle. Don't tell anyone I said so – it's supposed to be a secret", she told him and slid down to the ground, soft and silent like a cat. With a mischievous little smile, she reached to pat his knee, "Thank you for the ride. I hope we might do it again some time soon."

"That would be my pleasure", he said, trying fast to come up with something to make her stay for a little while more, but most things popping to his mind were bordering on outrageous.

"I'll see you at breakfast", she promised, which at least was a nice prospect. He found he was rather anxious to find out more about this princess who had so masterfully hidden her true self until now... he knew next to nothing about her, but Éomer already had a feeling he would very much enjoy solving the puzzle that was Princess Lothíriel. Perhaps it was strange of him to think so, but when they had been in the water together, something had just _clicked._

She was already nearing the rocks when something rather pressing occurred to him.

"My lady!" he called after her, and she spun around to look at him once more. His expression grew into a grin as he spoke, "Might I have my shirt back?"

She blushed at first, but quickly a smile appeared, revealing she very much saw the humour of the situation. She grinned as well, and there was a warm flutter in his chest. _She likes to laugh._

"Of course. Otherwise, the female servants of my father's household will go swooning left and right when they see you, Sire, and we can't have that. Though I do recommend you pick up seaweed from your hair – it's not a common headdress in these parts", she said lightly and pulled the shirt over her head. Fast he looked away, as her shift was everything but dry yet, and meeting her at breakfast would already be enough of a challenge.

She placed the damp, crumpled shirt in his hand, gave him a parting smile, and then turned around once more. Quickly she made way for the rocks, leaving behind a rather bafflled king. In fact, the said king was presently entertaining perhaps he had not picked up a flesh and blood princess from the sea, but a strange spirit that had somehow strayed away from the halls of Lady Uinen. Could such a thing be convinced to consider a union between Earth and Sea?

Éomer shook his head, reminding himself they were still practical strangers, no matter how much she fascinated him. But even then, he already knew the moment he saw her again could not come soon enough.

* * *

 _3021 July, Edoras_

"Love, I must admit, though I have thoroughly enjoyed our wedding celebrations, I am rather glad our guests are leaving tomorrow."

The remark was made by Éomer King of the Mark to his recently wedded wife, Lothíriel Queen, on the fifth night after they had made the sacred vows of marriage. She had been his consort for less than full five days and nights, but the young king already knew their life together would be blessed and happy. Surely, since his visit to Dol Amroth, he had experienced personal happiness in such quantities as never before in his life. And, if the light and joy she carried in herself were a promise of anything, he had no reason to expect to ever feel so alone or unhappy again as he had been before her.

"You are already eager to get rid of my family?" Lothíriel teased him gently, reaching for his hand under the high table where they were seated. Her nimble fingers wove their way through his fingers and then caressed his thigh not so innocently. As a lover, she had already proved true all the potential of eagerness and passion that he had first glimpsed that day by the sea, and there were moments Éomer simply couldn't believe his luck. After the Ring War, he had quickly resigned himself to the idea of a loveless marriage to some sufficiently accomplished lady; instead, next to him sat a woman who constantly had him wondering if she was some kind of a water spirit after all. And he loved her quite madly.

"Hmm. Yes. For one, I want you all to myself", he told her, desiring to lean over to kiss her, but even here in Rohan there was a point where _"too many kisses"_ became a thing. He imagined the Gondorian fraction of wedding guests must be rather scandalised by now, seeing the rampant way the King of the Mark and his newly wedded wife showered each other with affection in public. In his defence, he had waited for her over a year and the long months of their betrothal now seemed like a needless torment. But it was worth it, he decided, as he looked at the face of his most beloved queen.

"But truth is you are sick and tired of Amrothos' jokes at our expense", said Lothíriel with a smile, and he hid his groan in his mug of ale.

"That is part of the reason, aye", he muttered. For some reason he couldn't quite fathom, his new brother-in-law was supremely entertained by this affair. Apparently it had to do with something that had happened at the Fields of Cormallen, and only thing Éomer could think of was he had been too drunk at the time to make notice of the event which now proved such a source of amusement.

"Well, you are quite right, my dear king. Sometimes I think he takes sadistic pleasure in being a pain in the..." his queen said, and lowering her voice for the last word; Éomer nearly spluttered his ale around the table when she used language no well-bred lady was supposed to know. Really, getting to know her and all the little things about her lively personality was an ongoing adventure. And not a single day passed that she didn't surprise him somehow.

His queen smiled sweetly at him and gave his hand a squeeze. It took a moment for him to recover, but when he did, he couldn't resist the temptation of kissing her quickly.

"What do you say we sneak out for a bit? It's quite nice outside at this time of the year", he suggested, eager for the idea of a moment alone with her. It was such a bother to be a newly married king: he would have much preferred spending more time in private with his lady wife, but most of the time his duties as a host to a large and rather distinguished wedding entourage demanded otherwise.

"That is a lovely idea", she agreed, and considering no one was paying much attention to them right now, they could sneak away easily enough.

Éomer lead his wife through the narrow corridors of servants' quarters, and then past the kitchens, until at last they stepped outside into the fair summer's night. It was warm enough cloaks were not needed, and the air was heavy with smells of smoke and fragrances of the garden. When Lothíriel had accepted his proposal, he had immediately given orders to make new the royal gardens of the Hall so that it might please her when she arrived in Edoras. Above all, he wanted his wife to like her new home. Indeed, she had squealed in delight when he had first shown the place to her, and he gathered she already had multiple plans for improving it further. At the very least these first days of their marriage seemed to promise years of harmony and mutual love. And now that she was his queen, Éomer had a feeling she would not have to go jumping any more cliffs to feel alive. Certainly he intended to do his very best to provide her with enough challenges and just _life_ to keep her distracted.

As they strolled slowly on the terrace and admired the beauty of moonlit summer night, Éomer found himself wondering about great many things. He recalled life before all this and he remembered war. But mostly he thought of the woman by his side and all that she had already given him. Perhaps she sensed this, as eventually she asked, "What are you thinking, dear?"

"I was just wondering", he said, glancing at her. "What changed it, Lothíriel?"

"What changed what?" she asked back, caressing the back of his hand with her thumb.

"One moment you act around me like you were made of ice and stone. The next we are in the sea, and you are kissing me", he said, turning his face to look at her. He had at times thought about it, but the right moment to ask what had really happened that day by the sea had not come. Well, not until now, at least.

His wife gave him a strange little smile and she halted; they were standing near to the edge of the terrace, overlooking the great plains of the Riddermark. It was now summer and all was green and bright, though one wouldn't know it in the deep blue and silver of the night. Éomer knew he was probably a lovesick fool to think so, but there it was: the very nature reflecting the union of Earth and Sea. The White Horse and the Silver Swan were now forever joined in the two of them.

"When I was very young, I dreamed of a man in the sea", Lothíriel spoke softly, looking up at him with eyes grey and shining. She wrapped arms about his neck, and went on, "He was so warm, even against the cold waves, and he had seaweed in his hair. Somehow I knew then he was my husband. Somehow I knew he was mine, and he would be the catalyst to change my life. And so when I woke up, I pledged myself to him, waiting and hoping for his arrival. I had already almost given hope when that day came... there you were, rising from the deep, with seaweed in your hair! Éomer, I waited years and years for you. You do not know what a long, long time it was to be without you. So I kissed you, for I was so glad you had finally come."

For the longest time, all he could do was just stare at her as he tried to process what she had just told him. When he did say anything, it was not really the most intelligent thing he could say to such a revelation.

"You... dreamed of me?" he asked disbelievingly. Well, in his defence, it was not every day a man would learn their recently wedded wife had been waiting for him much longer than he had been aware of her existence.

"Yes. It runs in our line, seeing things that have not yet happened. Faramir has it, and Boromir did too. My brothers – well, only Elphir is sharp-sighted enough he might glimpse something if he bothered to try. Erchirion and Amrothos are too focused on what is to consider what could be. And I... well, I have always lived in the hope of future", she said softly and there was a thoughtful little crease between her eyebrows. She met his eyes again and smiled once more. "That's the reason I used to treat men so coldly, including you. I didn't want them to try to pursue me when I was waiting for the man with seaweed in his hair."

"Well", Éomer said at last, still attempting to wrap his mind around what she had just told him. _She had waited for him all these years._ With a small smile, he said, "I hope I have met your expectations, my lady."

Her smile was bright as the Moon.

"Oh, you are splendid. I am a lucky woman, dear. But I must admit you did surprise me. All those years I spent looking at lords in my father's court, wondering which one of them it would be. And then it's none else than the King of Rohan himself rising from the waves! I thought I was dreaming again. But then I kissed you and you were so warm, and I knew my waiting was over", she said and let out a small laugh, happy and light and sweet.

He couldn't help but smile at the memory. How had rushed into the sea, thinking she was trying to take her life... only to seal something which had been promised years ago. Éomer was not a particular believer in fate, but this was one thing he could not account for chance.

"Can you keep a secret?" she asked him, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

"Of course I can", he answered, brushing his fingers across her cheek.

"I very nearly tried to seduce you on that beach. Is that very outrageous of me? It's just I already considered you my husband. And husbands and wives don't hold back from each other, do they?" she murmured in a low, deep voice which had a thrilled shiver running down his spine. Oh, Béma! She was a wonder.

"I don't think so", he agreed. "You will never have to hold back with me, love."

 _Fate indeed._ How else would this woman fill him with so much love? Suddenly it occurred to Éomer that her dream might go the other way, too. With a smile, he caught her chin between his fingers, tipping her face upwards gently.

"I don't think you realise all that your dream promised", he said to her softly, making her frown.

"What do you mean?" she asked him, searching his face in doubt.

"You said I was the catalyst to change your life. But don't you see, Lothíriel? You changed mine, too", Éomer whispered, and just before he kissed her, he saw the incredulous smile on her face. Her mouth met his eagerly, though not with the passion they would save for their private chambers, and her lips were as sweet as the mead she had drank at the banquet. There was a certain sort of intoxication in kissing her, and each time he did, he was close to forgetting himself; moments like that she was as though an enchantress from deep halls of Ulmo. And she was his wife.

"Did it change for the better?" she whispered hoarsely when they pulled back to get some air.

"So much better", Éomer responded, hungering for her. Momentarily he considered taking her to the royal chambers right now – who could stop or blame them, anyway – but this _was_ the last night her family would be in Edoras. Perhaps they should return to the banquet for an hour or so.

"Still", he said then, smoothing down the wrinkles of her gown which were mostly his doing, "I must ask you not to tell anybody you married me because I look fetching with seaweed in my hair. Especially not Éothain."

"I told you it's supposed to be a good sign", Lothíriel reminded him, her eyes twinkling with amusement once more, and her clever fingers arranged the collar of his tunic straight again. She winked and gave him a quick kiss, "And so far, I think the old superstition could just be right."

"Aye. I rather think you southerners got that one right", Éomer quipped, offering his hand to his queen. Her laughter, clear as bells in the wind, was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

Following laughter and music which reached them from the hall, the royal couple of the Mark returned into the golden light of Meduseld, bantering lightly as they went. Though in the years to come many songs would be sung of Éomer Éadig and Lothíriel Queen and of their long and blessed rule, not a single one of their friends ever guessed just why she could always make him laugh with the mere mention of seaweed.

 **The End.**


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